


I Give You More, You Feelin' the Flow

by oneforyourfire



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Ear pulling, Good Boy Kink, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 04:45:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8357845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneforyourfire/pseuds/oneforyourfire
Summary: Jongdae had fallen in love with that tongue, those lips, those teeth, that excruciatingly wrecked moan long before he’d learned to love the boy attached to them (aka in which pcy begs to eat kjd out)





	

**Author's Note:**

> an expansion on my shiritori submission
> 
> title from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xwn-IDTsrRg)

“Is the view really that—?” Jongdae whines—his voice entirely too shaky, entirely too reedy with raw need or irritation or desperation—before he catches himself and swallows. “Is the view really that good?” he continues—steadier, less shaky, completely unnecessary. He knows—already—that it is.

Knows that it’s _precisely_ the reason that Chanyeol has frozen between Jongdae’s spread, bare legs to just fucking _stare_ at him, his eyes glazed and jaw slack and breathing labored. Because the view _is_ that good, because Chanyeol wants this so much—maybe just as much, maybe even _more_ and he just has to _savor_ it all for a moment.

Jongdae feels powerful with the knowledge, but even then, he still—wants, needs Chanyeol to continue. 

“Just gonna stare?” Jongdae goads when Chanyeol just blinks up at him in response, all slow and sleepy, his oversized, earnest, beautiful, beautiful eyes all dazed and dark with desire. And heat pulses through Jongdae’s skin even as more annoyance bleeds into his tone. “Thought you wanted this?” Jongdae adds, knowing that he does—maybe just as much, maybe even more.

But Chanyeol groans at the comment, catching himself and swallowing, too, squeezing absent but hard on Jongdae’s goose-bumped thighs, blinking up at him like he's _everything_ Chanyeol has ever wanted, could ever want. And he's so achingly gorgeous like this, flushed and disheveled, eyelashes heavy, breathing labored, his lips already red and slick and swollen from kissing Jongdae breathless, from swallowing his cock whole, from pulling way to bite his own bottom lip hard, nearly white before asking—no fucking begging—to eat him out, fuck, he wanted to so fucking _badly_ , is so in love with the way that Jongdae tastes when he’s fucking back on his tongue like he can’t get enough.

Jongdae’s fingers stumble forward, threading through Chanyeol’s dark hair, and Chanyeol clambers forward with a soft almost-whimper, a gorgeous flutter of his eyelashes, pressing into the touch then gliding back down to do what he’d begged to do, do what Jongdae is too proud to beg him to do. 

“Chanyeol,” he says, another whine, and it’s the closest he’ll allow himself to begging. But for Chanyeol, for his mouth, it’s worth it. 

Chanyeol’s mouth drags along his inner thigh, hair and nose and eyelashes tickling as his lips tease higher, higher, higher, and Jongdae tips back into the sheets with a soft, encouraging moan, legs falling open, knees colliding with his chest, fingers sifting once more before tugging.

Because Chanyeol is oftentimes clumsy, too loud and too big and too eager, too, but he loves loves loves to please—Jongdae. And he takes direction so fucking well, already sliding forward to mouth soft and teasing at the apex of Jongdae’s tense thighs, his tongue fluttering forward in a cursory taste—all delicious wet, wet heat—followed with a moan so deep that Jongdae’s head twists sharply to bite down on his pillow. 

And Chanyeol fucks him with his tongue the way he does with his fingers, his toys, his cock, sloppy and hard but earnest and enthusiastic and so heartbreakingly eager to please, right right right to the point. Chanyeol licks wet and messy and greedy, slurping obscenely as he cants Jongdae’s hips higher, folding his thighs to his chest. And fuck, Jongdae loves the rasp of his whimper, pressed wet and achingly hot inside of him, loves the way it ripples through Jongdae’s entire fucking body.

“Chanyeol,” Jongdae repeats, and Chanyeol licks into him further, big hands closing around his ass cheeks to spread his further. His blunt nails dig into Jongdae’s trembling skin, and the slight sting of it has Jongdae’s breath catching in his throat, devolving into the softest moan. 

Chanyeol rumbles a moan in response, too spearing to flick his tongue just right. And Jongdae’s lower body clenches helplessly, pressing back towards the gorgeous wet, wet friction. Yes, _yes_ , fuck, fuck, fuck. 

“Just like that.”

And then Chanyeol’s finger is circling the crease of his ass, too, as he hums into him with the most ruined want. The guitar callouses on his fingers ghost over Jongdae’s skin, fluttering, dragging, teasing, promising, and oh that’s even better, _deserves_ the breathy whimper Jongdae spills into his own shoulder, the encouraging pull to Chanyeol’s hair, two-fisted this time and hard and long. 

Chanyeol moans into him once more, devastatingly deep and dark with desire and dazed want and oh fuck, he loves that mouth. Jongdae had fallen in love with that tongue, those lips, those teeth, that excruciatingly wrecked moan long before he’d learned to love the boy attached to them, and oh fuck, fuck, fuck, he remembers now why Chanyeol was, is, will probably continue to be the best fuck he’s ever had.

He tugs harder, and Chanyeol shudders into the next slick, hot touch of his tongue, humming as Jongdae’s fingernails scrape over his scalp, the nape of his neck, anchoring as his body bows helplessly off the bed. 

And then, Chanyeol’s finger, oh fuck his finger, is easing its way alongside his tongue as Chanyeol shifts to suck on his rim. He’s still holding one thigh with his hand, fingernails biting into skin, fingers spasming at the whimper of his name. 

And fuck, Jongdae loves how big he is. How strong. The fact that Chanyeol could cage him in if he wanted to, hold him down or up or open, his for the taking. Could, but doesn’t, could if it wasn’t for his gorgeous, gorgeous, easy, easy pliance and submission, his aching need to please and be used. Instead, he so often bends so easily to Jongdae’s will, twists himself smaller and softer and more helpless. And oh, Jongdae loves him for it. Loves him for this, too.

Bent and twisted to the exact angle of vulnerability that he most craves, Jongdae bites into his own knee, trembles with his whole body at the skilled, slick push and retreat of Chanyeol’s tongue, murmuring all the while about how good it feels, how good it is, how good he is, how he can’t get enough, Chanyeol, it’s the fucking best, Chanyeol.

A weak exhale, and Chanyeol is pushing Jongdae’s thigh even higher, squeezing even tighter, mouthing even wetter as he eases another inside. 

And yes, Jongdae loves those fingers, too. Big and strong and nimble, they stretch him _aching_ , and Jongdae loves how thick they are, how skilled and familiar as they curl just just just right. And Chanyeol’s wonderful tongue slides forward again, pressing deep deep deep like he can’t fucking get enough. 

But Jongdae can’t either. 

Writhing backs towards the friction, fucking himself as much as he’s being fucked, Jongdae blinks at Chanyeol over the heaving expannse of his own kiss-marked chest. His eyebrows are knit in concentration, face flushed with pleasure, eyes closed as he savors it, and he’s so fucking beautiful and perfect. 

Chanyeol spreads his fingers open, pointed and precise, but licks greedily between them, adds another, still fucking bruising Jongdae’s thigh with the force of his grip, and _fuck_ , the sensations have him reeling. 

“Want you to touch yourself,” Jongdae decides, then, in a weak, weak rasp. “Wanna—wanna see.” Chanyeol’s eyes blink open, and they’re so fucking dark and wide and liquid as he finally drops Jongdae’s thigh, strokes himself instead. It’s his non-dominant hand, Chanyeol still using his fingers to fuck Jongdae, and fuck, Jongdae loves him. Loves him more than he loves his tongue, his lips, his teeth, his fingers, his ruined sounds. “Yes,” he coaches in a reedy moan. “Yes just like that.”

“Touch yourself ,too,” Chanyeol moans—no fucking _begs_ , and Jesus, his voice is so deep and rough and low that Jongdae feels it rattle through his entire body, quaking through Jongdae’s limbs, in Jongdae’s chest. 

“Fuck,” Jongdae praises, grinding back on Chanyeol’s fingers, his tongue, tipping back messily when he takes his own cock into his hand, stroking slow and loose to drag it out. His other hand, still tangled in Chanyeol’s hair, urges him harder. 

_Don’t move. Don’t move._

“Keep going,” he coaxes, moaning brokenly, and Chanyeol groans, the sound so rich and hot and hot and _filthy_. “So good.” 

Chanyeol thrusts his tongue faster, pauses to whimper. 

“My—” Jongdae gasps. “My good boy.” And he’s pulling at Chanyeol’s strands again, hard enough to strain forward at the force, hard enough to have Chaneyol arching, breathing out the lowest moan.

And Chanyeol’s fingers spams inside of him, then curl, grazing his prostate and fuck, fuck _fuck_. 

And it’s a whine—the loudest neediest one of the night—and Chanyeol shudders but smirks, lips grazing his rim in the laziest satisfaction before he’s curling forward once more with his fingers, his tongue. 

Jongdae’s thighs tremble around Chanyeol’s shoulders and his voice feels raw from moaning and his cock aches from how distressingly good it all feels as he strokes himself tighter, harder, thumbing at the head as Chanyeol’s fingers stay curled and persistent at his prostate. 

Jongdae doesn’t even have to coach. Chanyeol already knows. Just like that. Just exactly like that. 

“I love you” Jongdae groans or hiccups or sobs. And Chanyeol groans or hiccups or sobs, too, trembling into the next push of his tongue, fanning his fingers before thrusting hard.

Jongdae’s own fingers stroke over his aching, aching cock, stumble over Chanyeol’s shoulder, throat, to tease at his ears, too shaky and sloppy with pleasure as he circles his thumb, pulls. 

Chanyeol blinks up at him once more, his eyes watery and dark and dazed. He’s moaning into him still, licking still. Jongdae tugs once more, and Chanyeol quakes, so violently—so beautifully

Over the squelch of lube-tacky fingers, of obscene slurps, of breathy moans, and needy groans, Jongdae can make out the slick, filthy slap of skin on skin, Chanyeol touching himself faster. Messy and tight and hard like he’s does when he’s getting close. He’s panting and shuddering like he does when he’s close, too.

Further heat surges through him, shuddering through his veins, pulling his body taut with electric pleasure, impending orgasm. 

“Good boy,” Jongdae pants, fumbling to scrape along his earlobe once more, meaner now, sharper, a stinging scratch. Just just just how Chanyeol likes it. “My good, good boy. The very best.” 

And Chanyeol tenses sharply, whimpers as he bites down hard into Jongdae’s thigh, panting and moaning into his skin. Jongdae's name over and over again. And Jongdae’s body seizes with another tremor. He’s so close, it fucking _aches_ And fuck, had he just—just

Chanyeol shifts to fuck his tongue into him again, redoubling his efforts, and Jongdae does, too, tangling his legs over Chanyeol’s shoulders and riding back more insistently, chasing the white hot electric shuddering pleasure just just just on the horizon.

Chanyeol—perfect, darling, lovely, lovely Chanyeol—moans in encouragement. And Jongdae’s stroke tightens and quickens, his throat choking around a moan, his body bowed, suspended on the painful, shuddering precipice before before before—

It crashes upon him with a violence that makes his entire body quake.

He tugs on Chanyeol's hair as hard as he can, feeling the glorious give, the deep, deep groan Chanyeol presses into his body—it's so fuck, fuck, fuck—as white swims in his vision.

Boneless, utterly useless and breathless and heedless with pleasure, he melts into the sheets. And even with the lube tacky between his thighs, the itch of come streaked on his stomach and across his thighs, he’s thrumming with a lazy sort of contentment, urging Chanyeol upwards.

Hair wild and eyes glazed, lips puffed and so slick, he’s a gorgeous ruined portrait of desire and he’s completely his and Jongdae had loved Chanyeol’s tongue, his fingers, his cock long before he loved him. But he does now, so drunk on the afterglow, that his chest aches with it.

Chanyeol cages him in like this, all incongruously long, graceless limbs, collapsing on top of him in a warm, boneless heap. He nuzzles into his collarbone, his throat, his cheekbone, and Jongdae laughing tiredly, nuzzles back, kissing the crown of his head, the receding flush of his throat, finally the soft, dark brush of his eyelashes, cupping his face as Chanyeol laughs softly and breathlessly into his chin, then his mouth, settles on his nose. His gorgeous eyes are expressive and oversized and so brimming with love and want and contentment, and Jongdae loves him just as much—maybe even more.

**Author's Note:**

> if the feelings in this are off, just know that it's because i'm a hollowed out husk of a human, who has forgotten what love is, but i finally finished a fic. so hey


End file.
